


Wedding day

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Octavia Street musings [8]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Fluff, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 20:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16103423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Spring 2001.





	Wedding day

“Ilsa, Cormoran’s at the door,” her dad called up the stairs. Ilsa stared at her mum and Claire. “Why?” she asked, worried suddenly.

“I suggest you go and find out,” her mother said.

Ilsa padded down the stairs. Her hair was in rollers and she was still in her dressing gown, but her makeup and nails were done. The flowers sat on the kitchen table. Her wedding dress and Claire’s bridesmaid’s dress were hung on the back of the spare bedroom door.

Strike was at the back door, grinning his big grin. His hair was cut neatly and he was clean shaven, but he was still in T-shirt and jeans.

“What?” Ilsa worried. “Is Nick okay? You haven’t left him tied to a lamppost somewhere?”

Strike laughed. “I wouldn’t have dared,” he said. Ilsa had been quite fierce about them being sensible the night before the wedding. “Do not bring me a stinky hungover man to marry,” she’d warned him. “I’ll blame you personally.” So it was Strike who had told Nick he couldn’t have a third pint in the pub and should probably get to bed, much to Nick’s amusement.

“Everything’s fine,” Strike assured her. “I just wanted to see you on your wedding day. You all set?”

“Pretty much,” Ilsa said, looking round. “Just waiting for my hair to set and then I can put the dress on. That goes last.”

Her dad passed them each a glass of champagne. “Come in, Cormoran,” he said, and Strike stepped into the kitchen.

“So Nick’s really okay?” Ilsa asked. “Not running for the hills?”

Strike smiled at her fondly. “He’s more than okay,” he said gently. “He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him. He’d have been dressed and sat in that church at eight o’clock this morning if he’d had his way. I’ve had to let him start to get ready now, he was getting so impatient.”

Ilsa smiled softly and they sipped their champagne. _I must eat something,_ she thought absently. _It’s hours till the food._

Strike looked at her. “And you’re okay? Not running for the hills either?”

Ilsa smiled again. “I’m okay,” she said quietly. “I can’t wait to call that man my husband.”

Strike nodded and drained his glass. “I’d best be off, let you get back upstairs,” he said. “I just wanted to see you, say hi.”

Ilsa nodded and turned back towards the stairs, champagne in hand.

“Ilsa,” Strike said softly, and she turned back.

He smiled at her. “You look beautiful,” he said.

Ilsa flushed. “Thank you,” she said. “Just make sure he’s in that church!”

Strike laughed. “He’s probably there already,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

Ilsa could hear him chuckling as he went up the path. Smiling, she turned back to the stairs.

 

 


End file.
